F W Finney
F W Finney Poems
Three sailors trotted
Behind your mother in a two-wheeled lifeboat
Like determined rats through the catwalks
To the cages of the newborns
Where we held you captive
On your second day of breathing
In a Fin de siècle world
The first cord is already cut
And wires hang from your navel
As a reminder of ligature to come
For a while all
Will be an extension of your mother
But soon you'll descry
The colourful lures that hang from the mobile;
Feel the strings that tow the conscience;
Hear the sound of the wind through the ratlines
As you try to...
The steer with the bullhorn's hoofed it home.
Tonight we'll hear no more from him.
Let him bellow at passengers in his dreams.
More time to dream tomorrow.
Tonight the river moves a song
that moves the wind and the twinkling lights
like splashing oars that lift the night
and set it down on sparkling crowns,